Autumn's Collection of Incompletion
by AutumnSouls
Summary: A collection of incomplete stories, ideas/outlines, rough drafts, first chapters, and similar things that I haven't had the motivation to continue yet. If you've any suggestions, or wishes for a story here to be written out, feel free to tell me. If you wish to adopt one of these, just ask.
1. Jasmine Potter and the Stone's Summons

**Notice:**

Keep in mind that this chapter isn't polished. It's a draft for an idea I played around with. If people want this to become a story, I'll consider making it one. But understand that I didn't try that hard at this first chapter, and it's likely that anything else I post in this "Collection" will be similar, so if the writing quality dips in certain areas, that's why. If certain parts feel rushed, it's likely because I rushed it. Should I actually continue it, the idea/premise would stay, but this first chapter would likely be rewritten.

 **Summary:**

 _Jasmine Potter has been abandoned by both Ron and Hermione, leaving her with nothing but a tent, a rude painting, a conversational Horcrux, an apparently useless Snitch, and desperation, the last of which leads her to the discovery of her second Hallow — the Resurrection Stone. The dead come forth, and their knowledge comes with._

 **Possible Pairings:**

Gabrielle, who's a bit obsessed with Jasmine and stays at her safe house rather than Fleur's after Voldemort makes his move on France. Once she learns of how broken Jasmine is, her obsession fades, and genuine care and concern replace it. Four years younger than Jasmine.

Tonks, who finally gives up on Remus, duels with Jas to help out. They eventually fall for each other. Tonks wouldn't have been married by this point.

 **Questions:**

Should Jasmine learn from the spirits or "download" the knowledge of those spirits willing, like in Taure's story _The One He Feared_?

* * *

 **o**

 **Jasmine Potter and the Stone's Summons**

 **o**

 **Chapter 1**

 **A Conversational Evil**

Jasmine leaned back in her chair, blinking hard, appearing determined not to ruin her slightly dirt-stained cheeks with tears, all the meanwhile clutching the very object that had just completely shattered two friendships. She was sure she could feel it beating against her palm, with vigor it seemed, as though it was pleased with what had just happened.

The rain hadn't let up. If anything, it was pounding down upon the tent with greater force. There was thunder in the distance, moving closer, and it all seemed to reflect Jasmine's mood so well; the rain's monotony, her unwavering stare at the tent's entrance; the approaching storm, her building fury; the bitter wind forcing its way into the tent, her urge to find her best friends and force her foot up their —

There was a loud clap of thunder. The storm was here now, and after an hour of hoping, almost begging, they had not come back. After frantic pacing, furious thinking, and anger that was ready to spill over the top of the barriers of her Occlumency, she accepted it.

They had given up.

She flung the pulsing Horcrux at the wall and screamed in fury. She ran her hands through her red hair, not wincing as her fingers pulled numerous hairs out. She couldn't believe them. Hypocrites, the fucking both of them. They had the audacity to tell _her_ , of all people, that she shouldn't give up, that she shouldn't take a break to get her mind sorted out.

 _You can't take a break, Jas, especially now_. _What we're doing is far too important, you know that._

Hermione's words rang around in her head like one of those old, oscillating, obnoxious telephones.

"Rich, Hermione," Jasmine said, her voice full of bitterness. "Real rich. _Can't take a break, Jas, it would be irresponsible_. Un-fucking-believable."

She picked up the Horcrux and tossed it into her bag. The pouring rain drowned out the clunking of the locket as it clattered its way through Jasmine's belongings. If there was one thing she couldn't be angry at Hermione for, it was drilling important spells into her. The Undetectable Extension Charm was one of the more difficult spells to learn, but she had done it in the end anyway.

Ignoring the sputtering of Phineas Nigellus Black's portrait, she put him in her bag too. She packed up everything she could. If they wanted to leave her, she wasn't going to be around should they come crawling back. A bitter thought, perhaps, but it felt good to be furious now. It was preferable to the murky depression that had begun clouding her mind in the past few weeks.

"Bloody best friends," Jasmine muttered under her breath, "dumb war, moronic Ministry, fucking Voldemort and his ridiculous —"

There was a loud crack outside.

"— stupid lightning," Jasmine continued. "Can't even pack in peace, can I?"

There was another crack, and another, then two more came, and before she realized what it meant, a total of nine Apparition cracks sounded outside her tent, echoing throughout the forest.

Her wand was out of her sleeve, into her hand, and aiming at the entering wizard in a second. The man froze. His eyes widened in shock as his eyes flickered to Jasmine's scar, and as he opened his mouth, before he could really say anything, Jasmine dove into his mind.

 _Kidnappings, collected bounties, murder, rape —_

A silent Blasting Curse connected with the man's chest, sending him flying out of the tent, half his body engulfed in flames and his ribs no doubt crushed — Jasmine doubted he lived. She heard shouts from outside, incantations right after, and her Full Body-Shield Charm was up instantly.

Spells ripped their way through the tent, most missing, a few hitting her shield, which absorbed the hits. She pushed as much magic as she could into the shield as more spells crashed into it, and then, grabbing her bag with her free hand before she did it, she pushed —

The shield burst outwards, and the tent did the same, its own Undetectable Extension Charm failing with the explosion, and really, only adding to it. As it happened, Jasmine placed a Disillusionment Charm over herself, and stood in place. She looked around.

Six figures were getting up. One remained on the ground, on fire. One was impaled to a tree with a piece of wood, wood she recognized from the tent. She hadn't a clue where the ninth one was, and as much as she wished she could not care about that, she couldn't afford carelessness. Not now.

She was surrounded.

Six people had their wands out, pointing vaguely in her direction. A single thought, _Levicorpus_ , and one of the men was lifted off the ground by his ankle — he yelped — Jasmine raised him higher, let him go, cast a Summoning Charm on a rather sharp looking stick from behind the man, and then, he had been impaled.

Five were left.

The spells she had cast had no visual effect, and they remained clueless as to where she was. They could guess, of course, and that's exactly what they did. Jasmine's Shield Charm intercepted the three spells that had sped towards her — a Smoke Charm stopped any chance of them seeing her now, even if they had clearly seen their spells splatter against her shield. She dove to the side as more spells flew towards the spot she was in, her Disillusionment Charm failing.

"It's her!" came a rough, but loud voice. "Potter! We've got her!"

The smoke cleared, and the five remaining men advanced on her, their wide smiles instantly vanishing at the sight of Jasmine Potter on her knees, a look of pure determination plastered on her face, and her eyes blazing… _blazing_ , just like the tip of her wand.

It was quite remarkable how a deep, hidden flicker of fury could so quickly become a raging inferno, and indeed, the small flicker of flame that sparked from the tip of her wand so quickly became a whirl of Fiendfyre, a tornado of uncontrollable rage, that the men stood no chance, not really.

As Jasmine zigzagged through the trees, ignoring the torturous screams from behind her, she considered tossing the Horcrux into the flames, but as this was quite literally her first successful casting of Fiendfyre, she very much doubted her spell was as powerful as Fiendfyre ought to be.

She sent spell after spell into the stormy clouds above her, hoping to find where the Anti-Apparition Jinx ended. The screams became no more, and the sound of the fire became more distant. She looked back, and even through the heavy storm, through her long, wet hair, she could see the red glow.

She closed her eyes.

The storm raged around her, the rain drenching her, chilling her to the bone. A completely different chill filled her too, and a hollow feeling; she had just killed nine people. The storm thundered its agreement.

 _It was self-defense, and that's all there was to it._

The storm shook the tree she was leaning against, and the thunder was louder than ever before. It boomed around her, shaking her very bones as it rampaged across the land. It was as though nature itself was disgusted with her — wanted nothing more to do with her, as though she was the one who attacked first. And in a way, she was.

 _Kidnapping, bounties, murder, rape — it was self-defense, and it needed to be done._

She opened her eyes, and Disapparated.

* * *

Hermione and Ron opened the door to Shell Cottage. They entered the home. They felt almost empty. Guilt rushed through every vein of their body, and the amount of hope they had for Jasmine still being alive seemed to be nothing, for they felt as though they were being swallowed by misery.

"Did you —" Mrs. Weasley began, but seeing the devastated look on Hermione and Ron's face, she gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. "Please, don't say it…"

"We…" Hermione began, tears pouring down her cheeks. "We found the campsite…"

"Was she not there?" said Mr. Weasley quietly. The Order members leaned forward.

Ron shook his head, staring at nothing in particular. "There were so many bodies."

"Some of it was definitely Jasmine's work," whispered Hermione as she sat down in one of the seats at the table. "I think she must've said You-Know-Who's name while she was in the tent —"

There were small gasps around the table. Tears began streaming from Mrs. Weasley's eyes. Remus closed his eyes in pain, hoping against all hope that Jasmine was still alive.

"It looked as though the tent exploded from within," continued Hermione. "I think she was surrounded, but she blew the tent outwards to surprise the Snatchers. We found nine total bodies —"

" _Nine_?" exclaimed Fred and George.

Hermione nodded, and held back a sob. "Five were definitely men. The other four… we couldn't even identify the gender… It was… Fiendfyre — we don't even know if one of the charred bodies is her or not."

Hermione couldn't hold herself back anymore, and she broke out in sobs.

After everybody let this news sink in, Kingsley spoke up with his deep voice. "This is Jasmine. If there isn't a body, I don't believe she's dead."

"But Kingsley," said Mr. Weasley, comforting his sobbing wife, "she was outnumbered, one to nine possibly. How —"

Kingsley stood up. "Jasmine held her own against twelve Death Eaters, all of You-Know-Who's inner circle —"

"They weren't aiming to kill then."

"And they aren't now. You-Know-Who wants to kill her himself. If she could hold her own with only Neville Longbottom by her side against twelve Death Eaters when she was fifteen, she can hold her own against nine Snatchers now — especially now — you know how much focus she's put into dueling over the last year. If there's no body, I don't believe she's dead. Now, if you'll excuse me."

Kingsley left the room, leaving the rest of the Order with only the smallest hope.

"I can't believe we left her," said Hermione once she had enough breath to speak.

* * *

"How did it feel, Tom? Did you feel guilt? Satisfaction? Pleasure, even?"

Jasmine rested her chin on her folded hands, eyeing the locket, her breath visible with every breath she let go. It had been — truthfully, she wasn't really sure how long it had been since she had been abandoned. Weeks? Months? The snow had begun falling, so sometime in the winter. Her watch was broken, and she hadn't been that bothered to go out in public and check a newspaper.

She pulled the woolly hat on her head further down to completely cover her ears.

" _I felt nothing_."

Jasmine nodded to the Horcrux's words, not at all surprised. It had been weeks ago when she had opened the locket, had been tempted by the soul piece to — what was it exactly that the Horcrux expected to happen if it taunted her? All she did was laugh at the ghostly figure of Tom Riddle. It had taken many more openings, but eventually, she was able to have a normal conversation with him — or at least, as normal of a conversation one could have with a locket containing a piece of soul.

"You know I'm going to destroy you, right?"

The Horcrux didn't respond, but Jasmine could feel the magic it surrounded itself with. It was trying to make itself menacing. It was rather amusing, the little locket. It had nothing to tempt her with. It had nothing it could truly offer her, nothing she would believe the fractured little soulshit could really give her.

Over the lonely weeks, Jasmine spent half of her time simply thinking: where the rest of the Horcruxes could be; if practicing casting Fiendfyre was worth it; if Hermione and Ron were still alive; if everybody else was still alive… and much more. She had mastered almost every spell she knew, even nonverbally, and the few books she carried didn't offer her any new knowledge. She had tested her newly founded mastery of certain spells against any Death Eaters or Snatchers she came across.

She had lost count of how many Death Eaters she had killed, but she knew it was over thirteen. It was the same with Snatchers, except she hadn't killed most of the ones she came across. Most didn't mind tossing a muggleborn to the dementors for a paycheck, but some of them weren't completely evil. Instead of killing these ones, she often snapped their wands… and arms, legs, fingers — with spells, of course — often Dark ones with the arms and fingers, so those would never recover.

She didn't use Dark curses with the legs. She wasn't a monster.

"Say, Tom," she began again, "you think I could use you to find the other Horcruxes?"

She was sure the eye inside the locket twitched.

Jasmine sighed. "Probably not. Dumbledore would have done it with the ring. I'd have got rid of you already, you know, if I didn't want to burn this barnhouse down."

" _You do not have the skill to cast Fiendfyre_."

Jasmine scrunched her face in indignation. "But I literally used —"

" _Weak, basic, rudimentary Fiendfyre_ ," the Horcrux said. " _You are nothing. I will kill you. I will disembowel you and_ —"

"Does your memory reset after an hour or something?" Jasmine asked, not expecting an answer. "You've threatened me with disembowelment sixteen times now; death by fire nine times; death by Killing Curse only twice, surprisingly; decapitation a staggering thirty two times."

The Horcrux was silent for a full ten minutes. Jasmine grabbed a book once she realized it wouldn't respond and began reading — she thought 'Death' had a bit of a point in killing those who mocked death.

And then: " _I want it to sink in_."

Jasmine startled, losing her page. "What?"

" _I want it to sink in, that I will kill you_."

Jasmine frowned. "Are you talking about what I said literally ten minutes ago? _Close_ ," she hissed in Parseltongue. The locket closed with a small clang. "I must've dropped the poor bloke on his head last time we moved locations." She looked up, eyes unseeing, face blank. "God, I'm losing it."

Several more weeks passed by. Not much of interest happened. Jasmine did visit Godric's Hollow, fight a venomous snake, bring Bathilda Bagshot's home down in her impromptu duel with Voldemort, but for the most part, she spent her time moving from place to place, practicing magic, pleasuring herself, thinking, diving into Voldemort's mind in an attempt to find _something_. It was all a rather pointless search, really.

Whether it was January or February, Jasmine wasn't sure, but she was sitting against a tree, writing out a list of the best places she could put Phineas Black's portrait (she was fairly certain she was going mad), purely to annoy him, when a doe Patronus wandered in the clearing in front of her.

After briefly wondering what reason she'd have for casting a Patronus, and just why she was losing her memories now, she got up, tipped Phineas Black's portrait into the snow, muffling his ramblings, and walked up to the doe, leaving the magical tent she had created herself behind.

It fled, and she chased after. Eventually, the doe stopped on top of a frozen pond. Jasmine looked down at the ice, clearing off the frost with her wand, and saw her blurry reflection. She Transfigured a part of it into a mirror, and seeing her reflection, she grimaced.

She looked terrible. Dark circles lay under her bloodshot eyes, as though she hardly ever slept, and she hadn't, really; she was lucky to get two or three hours of sleep a night. Her red hair was now dirty, messy, and just unkempt in general. She looked like a woman who had given up, and she wasn't even sure if she had or hadn't.

She blinked hard several times and forced her eyelids to stay open. The doe had disappeared. She stepped onto the frozen pond, wondering if she had hallucinated the entire thing. And then she was looking down, through the ice, at a familiar looking sword.

She considered swimming down to it, but thought that was a bit ridiculous. If a Summoning Charm didn't work, she would just place a Sticking Charm to the end of a long stick. But first, she'd need to deal with the ice. She aimed her wand at the ice below.

" _Diffindo_!" Jasmine shouted, putting as much force as she could into the spell. The ice beneath her cracked, and then broke apart. Jasmine fell right into the water, cursing her own stupidity as the ice cold water instantly woke her fully. She twisted in the water and began swimming down — what would be the point of not getting the sword now that she —

Something tightened around her neck, and she reached up to feel what it was — the locket. She hadn't even realized she had put it on. She had left it in her bag, hadn't she? But now, the sword was getting further and further away… or was it just her vision blurring? She tried to swim up, but she was being pulled to the side rather than up, and she was only vaguely aware of a bright blue light, a whip of some sorts, reaching into the water, wrapping itself around her…

And a moment later, she was on the snow, and a very familiar voice was berating her for her stupidity.

"Stupid girl!" shouted a voice.

Jasmine looked up, brushing her wet hair out of her face, and her blood ran colder than she thought was possible given how cold she already was. Severus Snape stood above her, looking down at her with incredulity.

"Potter!" Snape said. "A Cutting Curse right under you, and jumping into the pond with that locket on — fool!"

Jasmine shook her head, sure that this was a hallucination. Snape sounded angry that she had nearly died. Isn't that exactly what he wanted? Wasn't he on Voldemort's side?

"Y-you," Jasmine coughed, "you saved my life…"

"Your life shouldn't need saving in the first place!" Snape snapped. "No, Potter, I do not wish you dead," he added when he saw Jasmine's face. "And you look more terrible than usual."

"B-but you killed —"

"I killed Dumbledore because he asked me to. Is your mind closed?"

"What?"

"Your mind! Is it closed? Have you closed it off? Has the link been reopened? If he sees into your mind and sees this conversation, I must know, Potter!"

Jasmine nodded tiredly. "You know he hasn't been able to get in for over a year now. Was it his hand that really killed him?"

"Yes," Snape said. "He was to die anyway. Get up. You have a Horcrux to destroy."

Jasmine's eyes widened only slightly. "You know?"

Snape closed his eyes and seemed to be holding back a deep sigh of frustration. " _Up_ , Potter," he said, putting the sword in Jasmine's hand. "Before you ask, I placed the sword in the pond because you weren't mean to know that I —"

"How did you find me?" Jasmine interrupted.

"The portrait. You mumble to yourself, and Phineas Black overheard it."

"Remind me to burn him."

"No. It'll be a decent enough way for me to communicate with you. Keep him with you."

Jasmine nodded as she stood up.

"You're taking this surprisingly well," Snape said, eyeing her. "I killed Dumbledore in front of you."

"Did you?" Jasmine mumbled. "Well, you know, hallucinations are very real."

Snape turned his eyes from the trees to her. "Ah, yes. Phineas mentioned this. He seems to be under the impression that you're going mad."

Jasmine shrugged as she picked up the locket and began walking back towards her tent, not really answering Snape or giving him another thought.

"Just how long have you been alone?" he asked.

Jasmine shrugged again. "I dunno, few weeks, few months — who knows?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "And you've had no one to speak to other than the portrait?"

Jasmine shook her head, sending drops of water onto Snape's robes. "The locket. It can talk. We have conversations… sometimes… they're rather one-sided," she said, feeling her hair and the rest of her body dry as Snape waved his wand over her.

"You've been having conversations with the locket?" Snape asked, and there was a surprising amount of incredulity in his voice. "Your stupidity truly astounds me."

"My two best friends left me. I'm being hunted down by the Ministry. I've killed more people in these last few months than I could count, and I've the whole world on my shoulders. Tom's inane ramblings about choking me with my own intestines amused me," Jasmine said, and she saw Snape grasp his wand tighter and move slowly away from her. "I won't hurt you. I'm not really crazy. I've just stopped caring. Before, I had something to fight for. Now, the only thing driving me… the only thing keeping me going… the only thing that's still burning inside me —"

"Revenge," said Snape simply. "And I've no worry about you hurting me. It's me having to hurt you that concerns me."

"I suppose so," said Jasmine. They had reached Jasmine's tent now. "Wipe your shoes, Snape. Death Eater or not, I won't have you dirty my place of living."

Snape took a look around, holding Phineas Black's portrait that he had picked up from outside. There was a single large bed in the far end of the entrance. Snape only noticed it was a bed by the very tops of the bedposts. A sturdy looking wall hid the rest of the bed, likely for quick protection, Snape assumed. He looked around everywhere again. "It's clean."

Jasmine snorted as she sat down, running her fingers through her red hair. She locked eyes with Snape, and Snape looked away. She tossed the Horcrux onto the ground below, and gripped the sword.

Snape stopped her. "What are you doing?"

Jasmine looked up and squinted at Snape.

"And I thought you fixed your eyesight," he added. "You're not wearing glasses anymore."

"I did. My vision just goes blurry sometime — lack of sleep, I think. And to answer your question, I'm destroying the Horcrux."

"You've spent months talking with the Horcrux, Potter! You are not going to be the one to destroy it. You'll easily succumb," Snape said, sneering down at her with disgust.

Jasmine narrowed her eyes at him. "Why do you hate me so much?"

Snape didn't answer. He took the sword out of her hands and kicked the locket to the center of the tent. "Tell it to open."

Jasmine frowned at him. "I told Tom _I'd_ destroy him, but whatever, _open_."

The locket clicked open, revealing two eyes in the glass inside. " _Severus Snape. I have seen your heart, what you truly desire_ ," it said.

Jasmine leaned back in her chair, looking bored. "Seen your dreams, blah, blah, blah, fears, desires, you dread this and that —"

" _I can bring her back…_ "

Snape, who had the sword raised above his head, faltered. His face was now pale. Jasmine looked interested now. Snape — her? Who did Snape once have?

" _Your heart longs for her. I can bring Lily Potter back._ "

The sword came crashing down upon the locket, and a long, drawn-out scream tore through the tent. There was a moment of silence.

"Odd," Jasmine said. "I could have sworn he said Lily Potter."

Snape didn't respond. She couldn't see his eyes due to his long, greasy black hair, but she was sure he was staring at the locket still.

"Well," Jasmine said, standing up cheerfully. "Now I get why your Patronus is a doe."

"Potter —"

"Can't believe you were in love with my mother, though."

"Potter, if you know what's best for —"

"Makes sense, I suppose, why I've caught you staring at me sometimes. What I _don't_ understand is why you still hate me."

Snape dropped the sword, gave a glare that could melt steel, and walked to the tent's exit. He stopped at the flap. "Because you're a disgrace to your mother."

Jasmine seemed unperturbed by this. "Or maybe you hate me because you hate yourself."

Snape stilled. Jasmine knew she had him.

"I understand though. I mean, I _am_ half your age. You should hate yourself for finding me attractive —"

"Potter!" Snape snarled.

Jasmine waved her hand at him dismissively. "I won't judge you for that. What I _will_ judge you for, however, is —"

"You're a Horcrux."

Jasmine stopped talking, her mouth still open, her face frozen.

"It's why you speak Parseltongue," Snape said. "It's why you share the connection, and it's why you must die in the end. Do the world a favor and make sure that day is sooner rather than later."

And with that, he left the tent, leaving Jasmine in her frozen state. Perhaps it was the absence of the Horcrux now, or what Snape had just told her, or both, but the spiraling staircase of madness she had been descending seemed to suddenly become like the staircase leading to Dumbledore's office — except it was much quicker.

It sped upwards and tossed Jasmine through the door and back into reality. The countless Death Eaters she had killed, some very brutally, the months she had spent talking to a locket, the fact that Snape was really on her side, that _she_ was a Horcrux —

She did the only thing she could do. She sat down, Summoned firewhisky, and didn't bother getting a glass.

* * *

Jasmine woke the next day, surprisingly on her bed, and unsurprisingly with her head pounding. She went to brush her hair out of her face when she noticed she was holding the Snitch, only, it was open — and empty.

Jasmine sat straight up, ignoring the hammer inside her skull trying its best to break out. She had somehow opened the Snitch, even found what was inside — but what was inside? She didn't remember a thing from the night before, unless she was to count wallowing in her own misery.

And then that's when the night before — the _months_ before came flooding back, and wallowing in her own misery suddenly sounded like something she should do now.

Snape was on their side. Excellent.

She had killed numerous people. Not excellent.

She had one Horcrux down. Wonderful.

She was one Horcrux. Not wonderful.

For some odd reason, this last thought didn't really seem to bother her. So she would have to die. What was the big deal? What did she even have to live for anymore? Certainly not any best friends. No special someone to look forward to spending her life with. No particular job or passion. Nothing but the satisfaction of seeing the fear in Voldemort's eyes once he realized he had lost.

It would have enough, if she could even be alive when the time came for him to die.

She wasn't sure if she should be concerned with the fact she wasn't too concerned over the fact she'd have to die. Would she have to die though? Who said? _Dumbledore_? She had lost nearly all respect for him. There were innocents, yes, but really, if Voldemort were to have his body destroyed again, they would be fine for another decade… unless Voldemort made plans for that, which he would have undoubtedly done.

Still, if she decided she didn't feel like dying, there was nothing to stop her from simply leaving the country. Would Voldemort hunt her down to the ends of the earth? Likely, yes. She paced around, thinking about her death.

She stepped on something sharp. Jasmine looked down once she removed her foot from the sharp object. She bent down and picked it up, bringing it to eye level. She turned it in her hand, examining it.

It was a black stone. She knew exactly what it was. There was no question about it.

 _I open at the close_.

Jasmine cursed Dumbledore under her breath as she turned the stone over in her hand again. This was no doubt something Dumbledore intended for her to use right before she walked to her death… something to give her a little push in the right direction. She turned over the stone once more.

She looked up.

* * *

 **A/N:**

I've got a rough idea of where I could go with this story. It wouldn't be long. Maybe 50k-75k words. I'm also leaning towards the Gabrielle pairing. She'd be 14 at the start, but as the years pass by, she would likely be 16 while Jasmine is 20 when they get together. Not a large age gap, in my opinion, with people at war.

If I went down the route of having Jasmine "download" the knowledge of Dumbledore or other spirits, I'd make Jasmine's mind a complete mess at first, for obvious reasons. This would play in with Gabrielle helping Jasmine work through her issues. Doing this also wouldn't make Jasmine instantly powerful. Unless she wishes to have her personality destroyed by Dumbledore's 100+ years of memories, she'd need to lock it all away in her mind, and slowly take out the useful parts.


	2. Of Flowers and Feathers

**Summary:**

 _After the war is lost, and most lie dead, Harry gets tossed into the 70s, where his list of the unexpected continually grows: Horcruxes that don't care of his future knowledge, and don't like to stay put; a Dumbledore that's no less interfering even without a prophecy; and Lily Evans, who can't keep her eyes off him._ Characters: _Harry, Lily, Luna, Marauders, Fawkes, Fawkes._

 **Author's Notes:**

time travel, romance, idk. Don't know if I'll ever really write this, and if I do, I don't know if I'd bring Luna along for the ride back in time. I honestly just wrote her in here because I wanted to see if I could write her well. She wouldn't be the romance. It would be Harry/Lily. Yeah, yeah, what's wrong with me.

* * *

 **o**

 **Of Flowers and Feathers**

 **o**

 **Chapter 1**

 **Lucky Number Seven**

 **o**

Harry wasn't sure why Luna was in his bed when he awoke, but he didn't ask. He couldn't remember the night before — drinking oneself into a stupor does that — but he very much doubted he and Luna had slept together. No, it was more likely she hadn't been able to sleep alone again.

It wasn't as though he, the broody cunt that he was, could complain. He had nightmares nightly. They had long ago stopped being about basilisks and dementors. Now, his nights were full of death — the deaths of his friends, the deaths of innocents, the deaths of those he had killed. The line often blurred.

And now he was brooding again, thinking deeply of the war they had so easily lost. Voldemort had won. But, at the same time, he had also lost in a way. Every now and then, Harry peeked through the connection he shared with Voldemort, thanks to that ruddy Horcrux in his head. He had been most amused at what he saw once Voldemort had completely taken over.

Boredom. Lord Voldemort was bored. After conquering everything he could, all he had left to do was sit on a throne. Conquering all of Europe was still a suicide mission for him, so he was forced to do nothing while his Death Eaters recruited more and more. Nothing but rage every time Harry managed to make him look like the fool, which was at least monthly. Harry had forgone non-lethal methods and the Death Eaters faced the consequences.

Harry understood, at least, why Voldemort seemed to take his very existence as the severest of personal insults. One, Harry had destroyed Voldemort's body at the age of one; two, delayed his return at the age of eleven and twelve; three, was the main reason the Death Eaters had so much trouble recruiting, as he had become just as fierce of an opponent as… perhaps Snape, maybe even close to Bellatrix… and was therefore a sort of bogeyman to the Death Eaters — a bogeyman that often did kill them in their sleep. It was only reasonable, really, for people to be cautious in joining Voldemort.

Still, despite it all, they had lost, were still losing, or whatever. His forces had grown too large, trained too long, become too skilled, and as time passed, Harry found it harder and harder to fight Death Eaters, especially multiple at a time.

The Order was gone. Done for.

Or at least he assumed so. Luna was the only friend he had contact with anymore. He didn't know if any Order members still lived, but as they no longer operated to a degree where Harry could track their movements, he had to assume the worst. Even Ron and Hermione had disappeared, either gone underground, left the country, or were killed.

It had all really gone to hell a year ago. Or was it two now? It didn't matter. The Ministry had fallen and he, Hermione, and Ron had all gone on the run, and a hunt. A hunt for that which have eluded him for _so long_. The Horcruxes.

They had won, the Horcruxes. Or maybe it was better to just say Horcrux. It was just one. That damnable locket had gotten to Ron, twisted his fears, insecurities, and magnified his anger. He had left, but not before accidentally taking Hermione in the Disapparition too.

Harry had never seen the two again.

He had never made it easy for anyone to find him, so he wasn't really sure if they had even tried. Not long after he was left alone, he had fucked up. Royally. He had uttered Voldemort's name. There was a Taboo on it. They had come.

Even back then, he was a decent fighter, but not good enough: they had still taken him. Malfoy Manor. Voldemort. Torture. A nice and healthy amount of it. He wasn't really sure why Voldemort had not just killed him. Maybe he had been too scared to use Legilimency on him, especially after the mortal agony he had suffered the last time he had attempted to invade Harry's mind, and he wanted to know what Harry knew before killing him. So torture was the only option to get information out of him.

Snape was partially responsible for this, the great git. He had given Voldemort fake Veritaserum. Naturally, Harry didn't tell the truth when it was given to him, and rather than believe Snape was at fault, Voldemort took it as Harry finally learning Occlumency. Either that or he had several capsules as fake teeth, all filled with the antidote to the truth serum. He had removed all of Harry's teeth just in case. And when that hadn't worked, it was plain old torture.

And then, through his Cruciated haze, he realized he was an idiot. So he called Kreacher. Dobby came along. In the ensuing battle, four Death Eaters had perished by Harry's hand, three by Dobby's, a staggering eleven by Kreacher's, and one by Luna — hers was merely an accident. She had eventually been captured too. Dean Thomas, who had refused to leave Harry and Luna to fight, had been killed too, rather quickly — the first casualty, actually. Poor bloke went right for Dolohov.

As the Death Eaters had rather severely underestimated the power of house-elves, the remainder had been forced to flee, leaving the manor to Harry and Luna, who freed all the other prisoners. All seven of them.

From then on, it was just Harry and Luna. He had brought her in on the Horcruxes. He had regretted it. That is, until she somehow produced Fiendfyre and destroyed the locket. Even now, when he had become skillful enough to hold his own against most of Voldemort's inner circle, he wasn't able to do it. Well, he was able to _do_ it, but not control it. Luna had managed to do it after she had found out about her father's death.

At the time Harry had been terrified of a raging Luna, but now, when she had become meek and somewhat timid, he wished to see a Luna full of life again. That was the difference between the two of them. Over time, after numerous battles, she had become more quiet and reserved. He had become more indifferent to matters. Not completely, and it wasn't as though _nothing_ fazed him anymore... he was just... mostly a snarky asshole now, who frequently brooded. It would take something particularly powerful to get a strong emotion out of him now.

The confirmation of Hermione and Ron's deaths would do it. He still cared for them even after all this time. He couldn't blame Ron anymore than Sam could have blamed Frodo. They were alike, the locket and the One Ring.

Luna's death would definitely hurt. He knew it would, so much so that he had wholeheartedly agreed when she had told him she didn't want to fight anymore.

Except for today.

Today they'd try to destroy Voldemort's body again. Try for the seventh time. Harry had given up on the Horcruxes. He had found the locket, broken into Gringotts to get the cup, had been given the diadem by Snape, and had destroyed the latter two with the Sword of Gryffindor, but Voldemort had hidden Nagini away and had apparently created another one and tossed it in the middle of the Pacific. Harry had no way of knowing if it was a false vision or if Voldemort had really done it. It had driven the Dark Lord slightly insane, creating another, but he was still no more incapable.

So there was still Nagini, him, and maybe some random pebble at the bottom of the bloody ocean. He and Luna had decided they'd try one last time to destroy his body, hope that it would take him another decade to come back, and that by that point, they'd have some other solution.

Felix Felicis.

It would be used. After about a year of attempting to brew it, and constantly failing, he had just gone to Snape to ask him for it, only to find that Snape had left the country, said fuck it all and just left, the big bastard.

But Harry had finally managed it. Or so he thought. He would know today if it had worked. What was the worst that could happen?

"It could kill us," Luna spoke, startling him.

Harry frowned at Luna, who had woken and was lying her head on his chest.

"Luna, quit that."

"Your thoughts are quite amusing, Harry. I don't think I will."

Harry emptied his mind and ignored Luna's mental poking. It was disturbing how good she had gotten at Legilimency. He was partially convinced she was a natural, and that was the reason for her unnatural perceptiveness even at Hogwarts. He didn't mind her probing his mind, necessarily, but he preferred her to ask. And if she didn't, he would just think of —

"And," Luna said, lifting herself from his chest, "they can also be quite disturbing."

"Today's the day," Harry said, staring over at Fawkes. The phoenix had come to Harry months before in the middle of a battle, swallowing a Killing Curse for him. Harry had picked up the remains and brought Fawkes back to his home. He never left.

"Will Dahlia join us?" Luna asked.

"Who's Dahlia?"

"Harry." She sounded like Hermione. "You killed her father."

"Did I?" Harry asked. "You know, usually when I kill people's loved ones, they don't join me in one last attempt in taking down the Dark Lord."

"Her father was selling her to a Death Eater for his own safety. She thanked you for it."

"Oh, her."

"It's not polite to —"

"Luna, you know I don't bother learning most people's names." Harry's tone was dismissive. "Most end up dead anyway."

Luna didn't say or do anything other than get up and enter the bathroom. Fawkes stared at him reproachfully.

"What?" Harry ran his fingers through his hair. "We're about to attack Riddle, and likely fucking _die_ , and she's worried about politeness? Besides, didn't Dahlia die a month ago?"

"No," Luna said from the bathroom. "That was Daphne. Dahlia is alone at Safehouse Seven."

Harry grimaced. He knew that, and he didn't need Luna reminding him.

He had rescued Daphne Greengrass when she was being transported to Azkaban. That was two months ago. A month after, she had found out about her sister's death. She killed herself the same day. That was a month ago.

"That's not what I was talking about. I remember Daphne, you know I do."

"I try not to," Luna said calmly. "It hurts less when I don't remember. Daphne was nice."

Harry didn't say anything. She _was_ nice. But Luna had a particular habit of saying things that Harry wasn't sure how to respond to. Then she did it again.

"Harry," she said. "If I die today, I think I'll be okay."

Harry took a deep breath. It was these kind of things that still got to him, still made his heart ache. "Luna, please."

"If I do die, Harry," she interrupted, "I want you to know I love you. I'm glad you're my last friend."

Harry looked down and nodded. "You know I love you too. That's why I'm going to be a bit upset if you do die, so don't, yeah? Great, good talk," he said, hopping off his bed. "Get ready, Luna. Either we both come home or neither of us do. Remember that. I'm not coming home without you." He looked over to Fawkes, but Luna beat him to it.

"Fawkes, if Harry dies, don't take me and bring me back. That's what you were going to say, Harry, wasn't it?"

He yawned. "Bloody Legilimenses. Can never get one up on them."

Harry didn't go get Dahlia. He didn't see the point. She was sixteen and would likely end up taking a Killing Curse in the first minute of the fight. Instead, he sent her a Patronus, a griffin, telling her what they were going to do and that she might never see them again. She had enough food to last her years anyway, and there was always Dobby and Kreacher to take care of her.

He hadn't been that surprised when his Patronus had changed from a stag to a griffin. He had drifted too far away from his old self, and he felt that he didn't really deserve the stag anymore. Not after the lengths he had gone to to try and end this war.

And then Harry and Luna were outfitted in enchanted armor, numerous healing potions, two Portkeys, extra wands, and goblin-made daggers coated in basilisk venom. They said one last goodbye to the home they had been staying at, as neither of them really thought they were going to make it out of this alive, and set off.

If Dobby's information was correct, where Harry was Apparating both himself and Luna to would be where Voldemort was staying at the moment. They appeared in what looked to be an empty field. But it was too empty. The Elder Wand was in Harry's hand immediately, and he sent a single spell toward the field. It went right across it, eventually fading into the horizon, but the Elder Wand had let Harry feel it. There was _something_ there.

He looked over at Luna, who looked as though it really was just a field and they were getting ready to play in it, tapped her hip with the back of his hand, and gave her a nod when she looked at him.

He raised the Elder Wand and from the tip of it flew such a spell that the hairs of both Harry and Luna stood on end. There was an enormous gong-like sound, a bright flash of light, and the ground shook. Harry gave a little nod to himself. They would already know they were here.

Fawkes burst from sudden flames from behind him and landed on his shoulder.

"Luna, grab him. We're going in at this one. Did you drink your Liquid Luck?" Harry asked as he pulled out his own and downed it. Luna only nodded. Harry tugged slightly at the Legilimency probe that always seemed to be lingering at the edge of his mind and took a peek into her mind.

Just as he thought, her calm expression was a facade.

Harry sent the same spell again, and this time, after the gong-like sound, during the bright flash of light, and before the ground shook, Fawkes took both Harry and Luna into fire, hot and uncomfortable, only just bearable, through the smallest of cracks in the Fidelius Charm in the smallest of seconds that it remained cracked, and then they were in.

Harry never got sick of the satisfying feeling of breaking through the charm. Nor did he ever get sick of the stunned looks on the Death Eaters' faces. Nor the fear. Nor the sound of them hitting the ground as he let loose spell after spell.

That which looked like a ball of lightning shot toward one Death Eater who opened the front doors to lead a group of more people outside. He seemed to absorb it, and then the ball bounced from him to the others, and before they all fell, the rest of the Death Eaters in the front yard of the house were on the floor too.

Harry forgot how nice it was to have someone watch his back, how it made this so much easier.

He made his entrance into the large mansion by launching Fiendfyre in, stepping back out again, and closing the doors, hoping that the Fiendfyre saw through actual vision, and not by sensing magic. Otherwise he might just be fucked.

"Well?" Harry said.

"I don't like killing, Harry," Luna said as they both listened to the screams coming from inside.

Harry nodded. "Quite understandable. We should take a step back. Tom's here."

They both did so and just in time too, as the front doors opened with such force that the hinges couldn't keep them completely on and they hung loosely at the sides as Voldemort stepped outside, his expression full of rage and slight insanity, and not at all touched by the fire. It was no surprise.

"Tom," Harry acknowledged as he felt an Anti-Portkey Jinx fall over the area.

"Harry, I see you've managed to break through another Fidelius," Voldemort said, as calmly as he could manage, which wasn't very calm at all. "And Luna, it's been a while, has it not? I thought you to be dead."

"No," Luna said simply, calmly, as though she wasn't talking to the man who had killed her father and so many of the people she once knew.

And to Harry's astonishment, she fired the first curse. He was hoping to get a little more conversation in, maybe a little banter, but he trusted that Liquid Luck was doing what was needed for Luna. For some odd reason, his was already fading. He supposed he had used it a bit too much before today. But there was still a little bit of luck left and he was determined to use it before downing more.

Voldemort attempted to fizzle out Luna's spell before he reached him — but no good, Luna had grown much more powerful since the last time the two had met and he had to deflect it instead. As Harry's own spell flew, Luna's crashed into one of the pillars of the mansion's front, blasting through it and into the wall, completely destroying it.

Harry's did the same on the other side —

And then, they were both on the defensive already. Not even them two, even with Liquid Luck, could really stay on the offensive with Voldemort. But they were skilled too, and all of Voldemort's spells were deflected with small flicks and swishes of their wands, the spells exploding at the ground behind and to the side of them.

Small patches of dirt flew up whenever Killing Curses were shot at them, and when Harry felt there was enough scattered dirt on the ground, he took a risky moment to wave his wand at it all.

As though a large fan had suddenly formed in the ground, the dirt sprung up and swirled around Voldemort, a great brown tornado blocking the Dark Lord from view. He looked as if he was trapped inside a giant piece of shit. Harry had to bite back a snort.

Luna took this moment to wave her wand somewhere beyond Voldemort's shoulder as the dirt turned into shards of ice and — half of them flew at great speed toward both Luna and Harry — the other half leapt up in the sky, with gravity waiting to do its trick.

Harry slashed his wand in a vertical way, from pointing at Voldemort's feet all the way to the sky above, and a fierce inferno burst forward, melting the falling shards of ice and even evaporating the resulting water instantly —

And then Luna was blasted backward. Harry never saw what spell she attempted to do, but Fawkes grabbed her before she hit the ground as Harry spun to avoid a curse, and then she was right back with him, dueling again as though nothing happened.

And so it went on, they danced, ducked, used Fawkes, and unleashed everything they could upon Voldemort. Voldemort didn't need to duck, though. He didn't even need to dodge, not really. Harry's Killing Curses were intercepted by conjured birds, catching the Killing Curses with impeccable aim and skill, and all of Luna's subtle charms and curses were dismantled almost immediately. He was inhuman, Voldemort, in the way he fought — but Harry knew he was still trying, that this wasn't a casual duel for any of them, that he and Luna were causing him to put in at least _some_ effort.

But as they dueled for some minutes more, enormous dirt warriors springing from the ground, flaming trees being Summoned from the nearby forest, the entire mansion being Summoned by Harry and his nerve, he began to realize they were going to lose if things kept going this way.

He wandlessly Summoned another vial of Liquid Luck into his left hand while his right weaved in a complex manner to create lions, birds, and snakes that were immediately charmed to explode in the direction they were facing the moment an order was given to them —

And sure enough, Voldemort attempted to do so, to make them turn on Harry, and it might as well have been six Blasting Curses thrown at him — but Voldemort still managed to get around them, deflecting half of them, shielding against two, and finally being forced to dodge to avoid the last — and then Harry saw it.

It slipped out from his robes, dangling on his neck, a bloody Time-Turner.

"You've —" Harry ducked "— got to be —" Inferi leapt at Voldemort, having been turned so by Harry "— kidding me!"

"What is this?" Voldemort said as he turned the dead lions into dust. "Inferi, Potter? Oh, the depths you've sunk to."

 _Keep him talking, Harry_.

Harry heard Luna's voice in his head, but he didn't need it. "You know very well —" He grunted as he spun to the side, slashing his diagonally to cast a wide _Sectumsempra_ "— that I've used them before, Tom —"

Voldemort let out an angry yell as a powerful spell that Harry couldn't identify flew from the tip of his wand, just barely missing Harry, and into the woods behind Harry and Luna. Harry heard the explosion as though it was next to them and he knew that even if the curse had just barely touched him, there would be nothing of him or Luna left.

"Speaking of depths one sinks to," Harry said, chuckling as Voldemort's next stream of spells splashed harmlessly against a special shield he and Luna had learned from the Black library, "at least we haven't resorted to meddling with time to keep up. What's the matter, not getting enough sleep? Missing dear old Bellatrix?"

Harry almost squealed as two Killing Curses flew by either side of his head, so close together that it was almost as though Voldemort had cast them at exactly the same time. Luna's frantic thoughts burst into head at the same time: _I said keep HIM talking, Harry!_

"It is not a weakness to use all available resources —"

But then, at Harry's command, Fawkes appeared in front of Voldemort, attempting to scratch his eyes out — but as Fawkes exploded from Voldemort's spell, Harry's own spell was at work already. He hadn't really expected it to work, had assumed there would be an Anti-Summoning Charm on it, but Voldemort's Time-Turner flew from his neck and into Harry's hand.

The battle stopped for a moment as Voldemort looked on in surprise, shock, and fury. But before he could do anything — knowing they would not win, that they still weren't strong enough to defeat him just yet, that this — this _experiment_ had gone wrong, Harry's wand tip was a sudden bright light, blinding everyone — him, Luna, and Voldemort.

With a wandless Summoning Charm, Fawkes flew into his hand, the chain of the Time-Turner already falling over both him and Luna, the hourglass in its complicated contraption already spinning, and Voldemort's curse heading straight for it.

The world didn't explode. Rather, it slowed down. Drastically. Harry stared at the purple curse as it ripped through the Time-Turner, and though Voldemort and his curse were moving slowly, Harry found that he could move his head freely — and he looked at Luna questioningly.

And then the world around them twisted, contorted, Voldemort became a black stretch in their vision, the horizon turning until the ground looked like the inside of a pipe and the sky the exit. Harry felt himself becoming one with this inexplicable event, felt himself stretching too, and the sands of time became one with _him_ , and… and it was odd.

The sand felt like it was ingrained in his very skin, and it was as though he was — not underwater, but perhaps in a full-body Bubble-Head Charm. He could taste it — Liquid Luck.

He couldn't move.

He could only look into Luna's eyes, hear her one last thought as though they were spoken aloud, those three words she had spoken before.

"I love you."

Harry couldn't speak. He could only look back and send his own thought, his own three words back to her.

"What the fuck."


	3. An Abnormal Amalgamation

**Note:**

This was meant to be a fic about Harry and Riddle teaming up to fight a greater evil — a Lovecraftian eldritch threat. They were to send themselves back in time, but it doesn't go quite well for Harry. Some humor, some horror. I don't plan on ever continuing this, really, but I didn't want it to go to waste. This was the summary for it:

The Veil which kept the Eldritch Truth away from seeing eyes is ripped away, and horrified by what becomes of the world, Harry travel back in time to stop it. Harry's not sure what's worse, however — the eldritch horrors, teaming up with Tom Riddle, or being reborn in his mother's body.

* * *

 _An Abnormal Amalgamation_

 _Chapter One_

 _Out of the Coffin, into the Dirt_

The remnants of Halloween. They were gone now, which was unusual because the town of Godric's Hollow often left the decorations up for two weeks after the holiday. Unusual, but not entirely unexpected due to recent events. Events of which took place on the day of Halloween itself.

Many of the residents thought it in bad taste to leave any sign of Halloween having happened the week before. Or perhaps they wished to move on with their normal lives, to simply forget the horror that had happened in their own town, in a peculiar cottage, where strange people had lived.

Pleasant, oh yes, but strange people nonetheless.

There were odd happenings around the Potter residence. Some claimed they had seen strange lights coming from where they were sure the Potters lived, or had lived — not that anyone was really sure. Their minds became fuzzy when they thought too hard of such matters, and none found this fact unsettling in the slightest. It was perfectly natural, after all, for a whole town to forget where a house stood.

But that was before, and now was today, a cold November night with a sky that flaunted more stars than light pollution ought to have allowed. Today, or rather tonight, the people remained in their homes, most afraid of that which had struck the Potters, for maybe it would come for them next, kill them in such bizarre manners as it had the young couple and their baby son.

In an almost ironic manner, the most superstitious of the lot, the priest, was out and about, walking through the church graveyard as though there was nothing that could frighten him. Or perhaps he knew more than he let on, of the secrets that were bestowed upon old Godric's Hollow so long ago.

He was startled, nonetheless, when he reached the Potter graves.

The dirt that had buried the Potter girl was disturbed. It moved, the small pebbles shifting and the clumps of dirt making room for _something_. The priest watched with bated breath, unsure of what was to happen, if such a thing as necromancy was even possible with those he had once before called demons and devils.

Perhaps it was time to call them such things again.

A hand shot out from the dirt, and the priest shrieked with fear. He pedaled backward, until his back hit a tall gravestone. Then there were two hands, red hair covered in dirt, a gasping head, torso, and then everything else.

The woman lay on the ground, her eyes closed and her fingers clutching the dirt. Moments passed in silence, until the priest shattered it with a whisper of foolish words.

"Are you the devil?"

The words felt childish coming out of his mouth, but he knew nothing else to say. A dirty hand brushed the hair back from the woman's eyes, green and intense.

"The devil?" she whispered, and she looked momentarily shocked at her own words. "No, I'm no devil, father."

"A deal then?" The priest wanted to slap himself. "A deal with the — with the devil? You're the Potter girl, yes? Strange rumors went around about you and your — "

The woman snorted. "A deal with the devil? I wish. Life might've been fairer then."

The priest clutched his crucifix more tightly, his heart pounding, his ears roaring. "B-But you mean..."

"What could be so terrible that one would wish for a deal with the devil?" she said with genuine curiosity as to what the priest meant. He nodded. "Do you really wish to know?"

The priest gulped. This was unlike anything he had ever encountered before. And her tone, it was grim, foreboding, and telling him to be cautious. He nodded again anyway.

"No, father, you don't." Her vivid green eyes, which would be beautiful on a warm summer day, looked cold and full of untold horrors; terrible tales that came with a befriending of insomnia and nightmares. "I will spare you this one time. Ask once more and I will show you."

"Why wait?"

The voice, bored and unimpressed, had come from the entrance to the graveyard. The priest turned to look, and saw a horrid sight. The man was pale, very pale, but that was the least of his worries. Even through the dark he could see those red eyes glowing.

He passed out.

Tom Riddle raised an eyebrow at the sight. "How pathetic."

The woman sighed. "He literally just asked me if I was the devil," she said, waving her hand airily at the priest, "and then you show up."

"And you, Harry, just crawled out of a grave that's not your own," said Riddle. "I don't think I can take the credit alone for frightening the poor man."

"Speaking of that," the woman said, moving and pointing toward him, "explain this!" She waved her hand frantically over her own body. "Did we jump dimensions? Am I the bloody Girl Who Lived now?"

"You are not the Girl Who Lived," said Riddle, sounding highly amused now. "You're simply Lily Potter."

"No."

"Yes."

"No _._ " She gave a disbelieving, almost-manic laugh. " _No._ "

Riddle looked at her. "Those creatures really did a number on you, didn't they?"

"What?"

"You were always annoying," he said, "but it was a different kind of annoying. Don't look at me like that. You used to be a brooding little cunt, but now you're simply insane."

"Rich."


	4. A Deathly Rebirth

I honestly don't know why I even wrote this. I was picturing a time travel fic where Harry took over his father's body — then of Harry as Lily, allowing him to begin a new life after the war if he so wished. This is a one-shot and won't go anywhere, as I have absolutely no idea what else I could do with this.

* * *

o

A Deathly Rebirth

o

"I've got to go back, haven't I?"

"That is up to you."

"I've got a choice?"

"Oh yes." Dumbledore smiled at him. "We are in King's Cross, you say? I think that if you decided not to go back, you would be able to... let's say... board a train."

"And where would it take me?"

"On," said Dumbledore simply.

Silence again.

"Voldemort's got the Elder Wand," said Harry.

"True. Voldemort has the Elder Wand."

"But you want me to go back?"

"I think," said Dumbledore, "that if you choose to return, there is a chance that he may be finished for good. I cannot promise it. But I know this, Harry, that you have less to fear from returning here than he does."

Harry glanced again at the raw-looking thing that trembled and choked in the shadow beneath the distant chair. After a moment of silence, Dumbledore spoke.

"However, I must warn you, so you do not waste time in your own panicked thoughts — should you decide to go back, that is."

"Sir?" said Harry.

"You see, Harry," said Dumbledore, "when Voldemort killed you, well, it's just that. That body, lying in the grass now in the Forbidden Forest, unfortunately, remains very dead."

Harry blinked. "But — you said I can go back — am I meant to come back as a ghost or — or —"

"Oh no." Dumbledore gave Harry a wry sort of smile. "You cannot return to your own body, Harry. You must enter another."

Harry felt his mouth open in shock. "What's that mean? Am I supposed to possess someone or something?"

"Remember the reason you are allowed to go back," said Dumbledore mysteriously. He looked somewhat pitying, and at the same time, amused.

"Because Voldemort took my blood?"

"Taking one's blood isn't enough to tether someone to life, Harry," said Dumbledore. "It's your mother's magic in your blood that did it."

Harry frowned. "I don't see how that tells me..."

Dumbledore stood and patted Harry on the shoulder. "You'll see soon enough. Just know you won't be in your own body anymore, and that you must hurry if you wish to reach Hogwarts in time. Know, Harry, before you and I part ways for what may be many years, that I am truly sorry for all the pain I've caused you, and still for the pain I haven't." Dumbledore beamed at him. "At least you'll keep your eyes."

Before Harry could say any more, do any more, Dumbledore and the rest of it was fading away. The white was turning grey, and then a shadow was cast over it all, and Harry felt himself being pulled away, away from the illuminated embrace of death, and into the inky darkness of life.

Part of him wanted to stay, to move on, to see his parents again. If he was to be placed in a new body... what if Ginny didn't find him attractive anymore? But even if he was placed into the body of Aberforth, he knew he'd accept it and do what needed to be done. Even if this forced him to have a new life, he'd have to deal with it. It wasn't as though death didn't separate him from his friends anyway.

When he regained feeling, he found himself to be in a wooden box of sorts. That was, at least, how it felt like against his fingers, which were most definitely not his own. He couldn't see anything, but he could feel it. His chest felt heavier, his hair now brushed against his neck, he felt smaller in general, less muscular, much less in fact, an ominous emptiness between his legs.

"No..." he moaned, but as Dumbledore was said, there was no time for panicking. He would do that later. Yes, he would definitely panic, for though he had been mildly accepting of being put into an old man's body, the thought of it being a woman he'd enter never entered his mind... but here he was, and in what appeared to be in a coffin.

Dumbledore's words floated back into his head, but he pushed them away, refusing to accept what might be the truth... but once he escaped this coffin — how was he to do it anyway? — he would find out anyway, if only from the color of his hair.

Breathing harder now, and even his breaths were different, Harry let his fingers trail across his stomach — he remembered that wizards were buried with their wands — and yes, he was less muscular now... his waist was so small... and then he came across what he had been hoping to find.

A wand.

He was fairly certain he could have Apparated out without it, but it wouldn't do to leave it behind. But would it even work? He wasn't whoever this woman was ( _please don't be her,_ he thought desperately) and so he had no idea if this wand would work for him. A malfunctioning wand wouldn't have been his first choice of weapon in a fight against Lord Voldemort.

Harry took a deep breath, and prepared himself to Disapparate — but he stopped himself.

What if he was far, far away from Hogwarts? What if he Splinched himself in attempting to Apparate there? No, he would have to simply blast his way out to make sure. A malfunctioning wand was bad enough, but he had a feeling showing up to duel the Dark Lord with a missing leg wouldn't help.

He pointed the wand upward.

" _Depulso_!"

The sound nearly deafened him.

He had wanted to blow the top of the coffin and the dirt above away, yes, but he wasn't entirely sure if he had expected it to work. But it had. He scrambled out of the coffin and up the dirt, casting a Shield Charm above to prevent any dirt from falling back on top of him.

The graveyard of Godric's Hollow looked a little different now, in May, not in December, with green grass and no snow, with the very early morning sun shining its glow down upon him and all else.

Harry hadn't been surprised that this was where he had popped up, but it didn't stop his throat from constricting, from tears welling up in his eyes, nor did it stop him from glancing over at the tombstone, which had been displaced due to the explosion.

 _Lily Potter._

What a cruel, twisted so-called "gift" fate had bestowed upon him. Reborn in his mother's body. His father, he could handle, though he'd feel terrible about it anyway — but his mother? Hadn't she been through enough? Wasn't him, walking and breathing in her body, dishonoring her in a way? He was to march to a duel with the darkest wizard of all time, in his mother's body, would likely scar her skin —

He felt sick.

The feeling only increased when he realized what he was doing, standing here and feeling sorry for himself and his mother, when innocent people might've been dying right now, at this very moment, for he knew Voldemort would never leave Hogwarts alone, no matter what he had promised. His body would have been brought back, undoubtedly, cursed and humiliated, while Voldemort gloated.

He Disapparated. A swishing of red hair was all he saw before he reappeared outside the Hogwarts gates. Harry wasted no time in charging forward, toward the eerily silent castle. As he walked, he realized just how clear his mind was... it was almost as though a fog had been lifted, strengthening and sharpening him.

It seemed the Horcrux in his scar did more than give him Parseltongue (did he still have it?) and a look into Lord Voldemort's mind. No wonder he had always been so terrible at Occlumency and non-verbal spells.

Or was it simply his mother's mind being much better than his? He had always been told she was incredibly clever.

But would this sudden new focus help him in a duel against Voldemort? No matter how clear his head was now, there was no deluding himself: he still stood no real chance against the Dark Lord. But maybe, just maybe, with the coming surprise of Lily Potter being alive, he could start the duel with the advantage.

He gave his wand a flick and a nearby small tree came to life. Before it could fully unroot itself and begin walking, Harry released the charm he had set on it. At least the wand worked for him. He then Transfigured the robes Lily had been placed in into jeans and a white shirt, wishing for as much mobility as possible.

There came voices from the distance.

"Silence!"

This was Voldemort's voice, louder and angrier than all the others. Harry felt a sort of fierce pride in his — her? — chest. If Voldemort was screaming for silence, that meant the Hogwarts defenders had not backed down quite yet...

And then, as he made his way ever closer, more screams rent the air.

He heard Neville's name being shouted by several, and a cold fist seemed to grab and twist his insides, pulling them downward.

Harry ran.

But just as he reached the courtyard, from where all this terrible sounds came, several things happened all that once.

Thestrals, Grawp, centaurs, and utter chaos.

Harry wasted no time lingering around.

It was amazing, completely amazing, just how well this new wonderful mind of his seemed to work. No Death Eater stood a chance. His mother's wand flicked and slashed, swished and twirled, and they fell before him.

With a quick flick upward, three Death Eaters were pulled back, as though an invisible hook had been plunged into the back of their necks and then withdrew. Some fell to simple Stunners and Body-Binds, while others had succumbed to Sectumsempra and the Blasting Curse.

Harry felt no guilt over this. Perhaps he would later, but now was the time for wrath and bloodshed.

He entered the castle at last, the main battles happening in the Great Hall it seemed. He could tell that no one had recognized his face yet, which wasn't all too surprising. Lily Potter may have been famous, but he had never once seen a photo of her outside of his own collection.

As he entered the Great Hall, taking note of his friends' victories over Death Eaters, he wondered briefly — very briefly — if he should have Summoned his Invisibility Cloak, but he dismissed the idea. There was no need, really.

Voldemort was firing curses wildly, but none of them seemed to land. A Killing Curse smacked directly into Hermione's face — Harry's heart went into his throat — but rather than killing her, it flew straight back at Voldemort, who swiftly dodged, looking fearful but not surprised that this was happening. It appeared that many of his spells before weren't landing.

But still, as the rest of the Death Eaters began falling, Molly Weasley taking down Bellatrix Lestrange, the others were hesitant to take Voldemort on. Even unable to use directly offensive spells, Voldemort was too powerful.

McGonagall, Kingsley, and Slughorn were dealt with almost quickly, Transfigured and animated rubble somewhat bypassing Harry's sacrificial protection. Still, they were removed from the fight, thankfully nonlethally (though Voldemort had no choice). Flitwick alone attempted to take Voldemort on, but he, too, was incapacitated.

When Voldemort turned and saw Molly Weasley standing over Bellatrix's body, a fierce look in her eyes, he screamed and pointed his wand at her. All the Weasleys gasped, cried in alarm, and went to Molly's defense.

Voldemort, however, didn't strike.

He was stopped short by Harry's voice. No. _Lily's_ voice.

"That's enough, Riddle."

Voldemort's eyes flitted to her, and Harry had never seen him so shocked. His jaw was hanging, his eyes bulging, his nostrils flaring, and they remained so for quite the long moment. Slowly, he shook his head.

Harry himself was slightly surprised as well, though he did not show it. His voice was melodious in a way, and demanding of attention.

"No... it's impossible..." Voldemort took a step back, looking downright fearful, and Harry took a step forward, out from the crowd of people and into the clearing in the center.

Many looked at him as though he was just another brave soul, but others, a few of them, gasped and screamed. Some had recognized him.

 _Her_.

Molly Weasley's arm had flown to her chest and she would have collapsed if Ron and Arthur hadn't been holding her up, the both of whom also looked immensely dumbfounded.

"Lily..."

"Impossible!"

"It's not her, it can't be!"

"Lily Potter!"

"A trick, it must be!"

The voices grew louder and more frantic as the rest of the crowd caught up and realized who they were staring at. Harry, however, as Lily, now had eyes only for Voldemort.

"Yes, it's me, Riddle. Lily."

Voldemort shook his head, as though this would clear some hallucination he must have thought he was seeing. Harry thought there was no real point in telling everyone he was actually Harry, and really, it would just create a whole lot of unnecessary confusion. So it was that he accepted he'd play the role of his mother. Part of him was immensely satisfied to do Voldemort so much upset and distress. Lily's revival would of course shock him more than Harry's.

"How?" breathed Voldemort, taking a step closer as though fascinated. And he must've been. To him, Lily Potter had just come from the dead, and _Lily_ — Harry had to accept he was she — doubted he believed her capable of Horcruxes. "I killed you."

Lily shook her head. "Only bound," she said, making it up on the spot.

Voldemort seemed to have got over his shock, for his eyes narrowed and he took a step forward. "Explain this magic!"

"I'm afraid we don't have all day," Lily said pleasantly, channeling the way Dumbledore spoke in a way, for she knew it always unnerved Voldemort. "But in short, in killing me, you bound me to my son, Harry." There were sniffles heard around them. "You never killed me fully, Riddle, but I was never fully alive, either. Not until you killed my son."

She said the last words quietly, but it reached everybody's ears nonetheless. She glanced a look at the Weasleys and her other friends as she and Voldemort began to circle each other. Their expressions would have been comical if it hadn't been for the severity of the situation.

A look of dawning comprehension came across Voldemort's face — Lily had to clear her mind of all amusement — and he spoke: "And when I killed Harry, you were free... yes..." Voldemort then cackled madly. "Dead you might not be, Lily, but your son remains so!"

There were a few choked sobs, particularly in the direction of the Weasleys and Hermione.

"Yes," Lily said calmly. For as horrible as his words were, she didn't sound bothered in the slightest. She had no reason to be. Harry wasn't dead, not really. "I've come to terms with it already. I saw it happen, through his eyes, as you killed him, in the Forbidden Forest, where he stood without a wand, accepting his death."

Voldemort laughed ever more loudly and insanely. "Then he was foolish!"

"No, he knew what he was doing." Lily tilted her head, looking at Riddle like a child might, in the same manner he had done in the forest. "Not even his death was your victory, Riddle."

Voldemort's eyes flashed at his birth name, though only now, for the first time. The previous uses of it must've not registered due to his shock.

"What is this?" he hissed. "I killed Harry Potter! Your son, Lily Potter, and he will not come back as you have!"

Lily shook her head. "You _fool_. Harry was hunting your Horcruxes."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at this. ""And he failed!"

Lily laughed. "Failed? You're mortal!" She looked at him incredulously. Had he truly lost his mind? "They're all done for, all seven of them!"

"I am still alive," Voldemort said, breathing deeply, "and as you've seen, Lily, no one has been able to bring me down, even with my spells faltering..."

"Ah, yes... Harry has done the same I did for him all those years ago..." It was odd, speaking as though she (he), Harry, was his (her) mother.

Voldemort slashed his wand through the air, and Lily clenched hers, thinking he had just cast a spell, but it was a wave of dismissal. "I thought it must have been... but no matter, I need not kill them to make them bow."

Lily stared at the Elder Wand. "Can you?"

"What?" Voldemort snapped.

"You've got nothing left." Lily looked back up at him. "Your Death Eaters have all fled, died, been defeated, or turned on you. Why, look at the Malfoys." She directed her wand toward the three of them, who were huddled in a corner. "Not even they care for you anymore. You have nothing left, Riddle, nothing left but the robes on your back."

"I have the Elder Wand!" Voldemort screamed, holding the wand high as though to display it for everyone. "The Elder Wand is undefeatable! And I, Lord Voldemort, have mastered it through —"

"You haven't mastered anything," Lily interrupted. "As I said, you have nothing but the robes on your back. Not even the wand in yours, Riddle."

"What's this nonsense? I killed Severus —"

"You killed Severus Snape, who was never the master of the Elder Wand _or_ your true servant." Lily laughed again, this time coldly. "I've been looking through Harry's eyes this whole time, and I've seen everything he's seen. Severus was _never_ yours, not since you attempted to kill me. He loved me, Riddle, and _that_ , no matter how much you mock it, will always be your downfall. Even if I do not kill you today, or tomorrow, it will be the death of you."

"Love?" Voldemort sneered. "It matters not! I do not care for such banalities! Snape killed Dumbledore, I —"

"Dumbledore was already dying! He let Snape kill him, intending for the Elder Wand to die with him, but Malfoy Disarmed Dumbledore before he could do so — therefore becoming the true Master of the Elder Wand."

Voldemort stared at her for a moment, trying in vain to get into her mind, but it would not work. He then turned to the Malfoys, but caught the flash of light in the corner of his eye. He jumped back, thinking the spell had been meant for him — but it had not.

For the second time, Lily Disarmed Malfoy of his wand. It didn't matter, but she couldn't let Malfoy die by Voldemort's hand. She needed his eyes on her.

Voldemort turned his head from Malfoy to her quickly, his eyes widening in realization. He pulled up his wand, _her_ wand, and screamed: " _Avada Kedavra_!"

Lily didn't bother to even say an incantation. She gave a lazy flick of her wand and sent out another Disarming Charm.

And then he died.

Voldemort lay on the ground and she held the Elder Wand in her hand, feeling its power coursing through her veins. How _incredible_.

There was a small stretch of silence, where no one seemed to know what to do. It had been all too much to take in. But then, almost all at once, cheers and screams and roars of delight filled the air and she was suddenly surrounded by people, so many questions being asked, so many hugs and attempted handshakes — though she couldn't, for both her hands held wands.

Then, in the middle of it all, everyone went silent. Lily had not shown any enthusiasm whatsoever toward those around her, but she looked when the crowd began splitting. At the end, tears streaming down his face, stood Hagrid. And in his arms, lay Lily's old body.

It was completely bizarre to see her own dead body, and Harry was very dead indeed; there was no question about it.

"Lily..." Hagrid said in a kind of moan, and he burst into tears.

Lily could not take her eyes off of the body. It did not matter that she had survived. Her life as Harry Potter was truly over. How could Hermione and Ron ever be comfortable around her? Even if she told them the truth, she would still look like Harry's mother... and Ginny, oh, Ginny... What was there? Ginny had loved Harry Potter, not her, not Lily. She wasn't even sure if Ginny was into women, and if she wasn't... Even if she was, it would still be much too awkward.

And for the both of them.

How could she, now Lily but still deep inside Harry, have a relationship with _anybody_? In this body, of her — his — mother's body? She felt it would be far too disrespectful, not to mention downright weird, to use this body to snog or shag with.

She couldn't help the tears from these thoughts... Undoubtedly everybody assumed they were because of her apparent son's death... and she would let them think so...

She would take Harry's body now, and go to bury it, immediately, but where she did not know. Where would she like to be buried? Godric's Hollow didn't seem right, for some reason. No, she knew where. And she didn't care who objected.

Harry would be laid to rest on the same little island as Dumbledore.

And she, Lily, would... would...

"Lily?"

Lily looked to Professor McGonagall, where the shaky voice had come, who looked as though she still couldn't believe her eyes. She smiled weakly. "Hello, Minerva." It felt right to use her first name.

McGonagall burst into tears and and enveloped her in a tight hug. "Oh, Lily! But how — you said, _bound_? And _Harry_!"

It felt very awkward to have such a stern teacher sobbing right into her shoulder. But Lily let it happen. She felt guilty for not revealing the truth, but she could not do it, especially not now, in front of all these strangers. The guilt multiplied as others came too: Molly Weasley, though she wasn't sure if Molly had ever truly known Lily; Flitwick, who hugged her legs tight; Slughorn, who grasped her shoulder and stared at her with a pale face, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Professor," she said after nearly a minute of this. "Professor... please, Harry..."

Professor McGonagall pulled away, looked at her with an anguished face, nodded, and looked away from Harry's body, as though she couldn't bare to see it. Lily removed herself from everybody else and walked up to Hagrid.

It was even more surreal to see this close up. She took her old body into her arms, lightening the weight with magic first, and moved past Hagrid, unable to take her eyes off of herself — himself — whatever.

No one followed.

On the island Dumbledore's grave rested, she made another tomb; black with green trimmings, and placed her old body within. She took Malfoy's wand from Harry's jeans, deciding she'd give it back to Malfoy before she disappeared from the world, and then shut and enchanted the tomb.


End file.
